


safety off

by WildlyJourneyed



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gun Kink, Hand & Finger Kink, Hate Sex, Intercrural Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:40:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26038057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildlyJourneyed/pseuds/WildlyJourneyed
Summary: Talmage still feels weird,warm, even though he’s not looking at Gwynfor and Gwynfor isn’t looking at him: they’re both staring at the gun.  Though really, Talmage is staring at the way those hands move around the gun.  Long fingers in dark gloves moving over slick metal.  Fuck.Fuck.  Idiot fucking libido and, apparently, a newly discovered hand kink.  Or maybe it’s just Gwynfor.  Yes, that’s it: he’s super into the fact that Gwynfor took direction from him so well that the fucking elf is able to take Talmage’s gun apart and, whoops, apparently also put it back together.  Talmage blinks.  Huh.  His mouth is dry.
Relationships: Gwynfor/Talmage
Kudos: 9





	safety off

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emiOCs (emifail)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emifail/gifts).



The gun lays innocuously on the desk, warm from having been in Talmage’s hands for the better part of the evening. It’s long after dark now, the classroom empty but for himself and Gwynfor. Talmage is riding out the high of being _The Teacher_ , having exhaustively finished his rundown on how to strip his gun apart and piece it back together—demonstrated several times as he forgot to mention things almost every try. Gwynfor, ever observant, has been making notes with his eyes or something because the intense look on his face seems pretty far away when he looks up from the gun.

“Fascinating.” He says, and he finally seems to register that Talmage is, in fact, right fucking there. Talmage would be annoyed about it but having that intensity suddenly focused on him makes him feel—weird. He shifts forward so that both of his palms are flat on the desk, settling his weight there and trying to look casual.

“Yeah, of fucking course it is. Now you try it.” He doesn’t really expect Gwynfor to be able to do exactly what he’d explained. Yet the second the fucking clown picks up the gun, he’s dismantling it the way Talmage had just done it. Slower, more calculated, taking his time looking at each part and testing the weight of them in his hands.

Oh.

Talmage still feels weird, _warm_ , even though he’s not looking at Gwynfor and Gwynfor isn’t looking at him: they’re both staring at the gun. Though really, Talmage is staring at the way those hands move around the gun. Long fingers in dark gloves moving over slick metal. Fuck. _Fuck_. Idiot fucking libido and, apparently, a newly discovered hand kink. Or maybe it’s just Gwynfor. Yes, that’s it: he’s super into the fact that Gwynfor took direction from him so well that the fucking elf is able to take Talmage’s gun apart and, whoops, apparently also put it back together. Talmage blinks. Huh. His mouth is dry.

“Luckily, your hands work better than that mouth of yours does.” Gwynfor is still holding the gun, which is why it takes a moment for Talmage to get the backhanded compliment. Is it even a compliment? It’s an insult through and through, isn’t it. Does that mean Gwynfor wasn’t fucking listening the _entire time?_

“Excuse me? What the fuck does that mean?” He growls, but it’s not really a growl: his voice is doing this horrifically embarrassing breathy thing and Gwynfor _notices_. The elf doesn’t smile but his expression shifts just enough that Talmage can feel himself losing what, if any, control he had over the situation. It’s always like this with him. Talmage thinks he’s gone up a rung on the ladder, and then it gets kicked out from under him.

“You’re a terrible teacher.” Stated like a fact and, yeah, okay.

“Obviously fucking NOT if you were able to figure out my gun that quickly! My mouth understands that gun just fine!”

“Does it, now?” Gwynfor's eyes narrow in that way Talmage _thinks_ means he’s amused but. He blanks, trying to figure out where he went wrong, and—yup, he fucked up.

He still feels so fucking warm.

“Prove it.” He hates it when Gwynfor challenges him because they both know he isn’t going to like, outright refuse. So Talmage bares his teeth and leans in a little closer, his tail making an agitated swoop across the floor. He reaches for the gun, and Gwynfor doesn’t resist as Talmage pulls it from his hands and—

Well, it’s not like he’s never put his gun in his mouth before. Except he hasn’t, actually. Talmage winces as the metal hits his teeth but he keeps his glare trained on Gwynfor, making sure to sweep his tongue over the barrel of the gun. The elf just. Watches. His expression doesn’t even change and it’s infuriating that he’d expected this, basically manhandled Talmage into this with his words, and nope he’s not going to think about other kinds of manhandling. Instead he focuses on the fact that he’s giving his own gun a blowjob while Gwynfor watches.

He figures out the fatal flaw some several minutes into it. A gun is not a dick and therefore there is no knowing when to stop. Talmage falters and he realizes that Gwynfor has just been waiting for him to reach that conclusion. He has no fucking idea where to go from here, and he pulls the gun out of his mouth with such an gross amount of saliva that he can’t help but cringe.

“Well?” He says, not sure what he’s fucking asking but his dick is hard from whatever the fuck is happening and Gwynfor is still staring at him.

“What, are you looking for a reward?” That’s not what Talmage had been looking for. But, he realizes in dawning horror, maybe he _had_ been expecting some kind of praise. He just sucked off a gun to prove a point and now that he’s actually thinking this through, _what was the fucking point?!_

“Well—WELL, says the motherfucker who’s _also_ hard!” And Gwynfor is, to Talmage’s utter surprise and immense satisfaction. Gwynfor just hums, and when Talmage rounds the desk he doesn’t even hesitate to swing him around and shove him face first towards solid wood.

“Excuse YOU!”

“Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?” It’s not, actually, but also maybe it kind of is. Fuck. Gwynfor’s hips press into the backs of his thighs but he doesn’t do much else.

“Are you gonna—I mean, what are you—” He cuts off with a groan as warm leather grips around the back of his neck, unexpected but not unwelcome. It’s not too tight but it’s firm, and Talmage _likes_ that, likes being held fast even though he knows he’s going to start fighting it in a second. It gives him a moment to think though, because this escalated quickly and he’s not totally sure why. It occurs to Talmage that, maybe, Gwynfor is _annoyed_. And not the usual way he is with Talmage, no, it’s about the fact that Talmage has this sick piece of artificing that Gwynfor had to have explained to him. Which means not only has Talmage gone up a rung on the ladder, he’s gone _several_ and that pisses the elf off.

He feels Gwynfor tense, probably sensing the confident change in Talmage’s body line, but before he can get one good jab in, his fucking pants are pulled down. In the next beat there’s also warm slick between his thighs, making him jump. At least, he jolts under Gwynfor’s hands, still pressed to the desk.

“What kind of fucking spell—”

“Maybe if you paid attention in class—”

“You teach fucking _lube_ spells in class? What’s fucking wrong with you oh my _GODS_ —” The last word comes out much higher pitched than Talmage would ever want to admit to, because there’s something hard and _not in the usual way_ nudging the backs of his legs. And for all that he might be an idiot, it doesn’t take Talmage long to figure out that it's his own gods-damned gun. Gwynfor is fucking Talmage’s thighs using the fucking GUN. His first thought is that holy shit the metal is cold against his balls. The second is that the gun could _blow his literal balls off._

Gwynfor leans forward, the huge hand at Talmage’s neck sliding down to sprawl over his upper back, and he whispers, “I don’t suppose you could explain your artefact, in detail, once more?” 

He really wants Talmage to talk through how the gun works while said gun, oh fuck, is sliding between his thighs? 

He can never turn down a challenge. 

“You call me a bad teacher but seems like you’re just a really _shiii_ iiitty student,” This should not feel good because it is, in fact, terrifying. But apparently this can be both, so Talmage squirms and keeps his thighs together as the gun slides back and forth between them. The metal is warming up with the friction and that’s. Distracting.

He’s not really aware of what’s coming out of his mouth—words, definitely words, all the things he’s memorized about the making and mechanics and maintenance—but Talmage finds it hard to catch his breath when Gwynfor’s knuckles brush the backs of his thighs, the gun still pressing in and out between them. Gwynfor himself is mostly silent, ragged sounds catching in the pauses of Talmage’s ramblings. _This is fucked up_ , Talmage thinks, and it doesn’t bother him nearly as much as he thinks it should. What _does_ bother him is the fact that the stimulation isn’t enough to get him off, and he starts tripping over his own words trying to ask for more. In response to that, Gwynfor lays fully across Talmage’s back and angles his hips just so. He thrusts forward in time with the gun and that, to Talmage’s equal pleasure and horror, is what finally gets him over the edge.

“Shit, holy fuck—” He’s limp, useless on the desk as Gwynfor pulls back and sets the gun carefully next to Talmage’s head.

“I don’t think you explained it well enough. We’ll have to continue tomorrow.”

Talmage stares at the gun, covered in lube and cum right in his field of vision, and he thinks he’s never wanted to shoot Gwynfor more.


End file.
